


Under the Mistletoe

by FestiveFerret



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Fluff, Kisses, M/M, Mistletoe, Ridiculous, Tony is a Goof, steve is an angel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 18:50:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12990321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FestiveFerret/pseuds/FestiveFerret
Summary: It's love at first sight and Tony has a plan: Mistletoe.





	Under the Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashes0909](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashes0909/gifts).



> For my darling girl because I wrote too much depressing shit and she wanted Christmas fluff. Love you boo.

Nat slapped Tony up the back of the head with a damp mitten. “Merry Christmas.”

Tony stuck his tongue out at her, brushing the melted snow out of his hair. “Bah humbug.”

“Shut up, you love it.” She dropped a case of beer in his lap and hustled away towards the smells wafting out of the kitchen. “I brought some friends,” she called as she disappeared.

Great, more people. Tony tugged a beer free and set it on the coffee table, then lifted the rest of the case, heading for the garage fridge. Probably Nat’s new boyfriend and whatever strays she’d picked up at that gym she spent all of her spare time at.

Not that he really minded; it wasn’t like he didn’t have the space. And spending Christmas with his friends was infinitely better than trekking back home to New York to go to stuffy society parties with his parents. No, he was glad he’d stayed in Boston for the break this year, but even still, perhaps a little something like homesickness had wound through his stomach anyway.

He wandered around the couch, beer in hand, and walked straight into an angel. “Oh my god.”

The angel looked at him wide-eyed, then smiled nervously. “I’m Steve?” he asked, as if Tony would know the answer.

“If you say so, gorgeous.”

Steve blushed, and good lord, that was even better. Where on earth did Nat find friends like this?

“I’m one of Nat’s friends - er, her boyfriend’s best friend. Bucky… ‘s friend.” This guy’s major had to be in Adorable.

Tony shifted the beer in his arms. “I guessed as much. It was either that or you’re my Christmas present, and I gotta say, a little disappointed you’re not, but I suppose the lack of a bow was a dead give away.” Tony let his eyes rake over Steve’s body. He must go to the same gym Nat and Bucky met at because his arms alone were so perfectly sculpted that Tony wasn’t entirely sure they weren’t some kind of clever illusion.

Steve shuffled under Tony’s gaze, but he didn’t look uncomfortable. His eyes flicked back over to Tony a few times, warm under his long lashes and that was it, Tony was done.

“Do you need help with that?” Steve asked, glancing at the beer. But Tony shook his head and made a beeline for the garage door. Once alone, he shoved the beer in the fridge and stared at the plastic owl Rhodey had got for the backyard and never put up. It was to scare away birds or something.

“That guy is a wet dream come true,” he told the owl, something new and tingly settling in his stomach. “Steve. Holy shit. I’m in love. I was skeptical of the whole love at first sight thing, but if he’s half as nice as he is hot then he’s the most perfect person on the planet. I have to do something. Oh my god, what do I do?”

The owl stared back.

“What the fuck do you know, you’ve never had a date in your life.” Tony slipped back into the house and slithered through the gathering guests until he sidled up beside Nat. “Hey,” he hissed in her ear.

“Stop hissing in my ear,” she replied.

“Tell me about Steve.”

Nat shot him a look. It was the barest lift of an eyebrow, but it managed to convey, “Tony, don’t you fucking dare,” and, “I really don’t want to get involved with this, do I?” and, “what have you done this time?” all at once.

“What have you done this time?” she asked.

“I fell in love.”

“What.”

Tony spread his arms, and looked furtively around them to make sure no one was listening. “I fell in _love,_ Nat. I didn’t mean to. He was just there. What the _fuck?”_

Nat had the gall to laugh at him. “You don’t even know him.”

“That’s why I need you to tell me about him.”

She shrugged. “I don’t really know him either. He’s Bucky’s best friend. I see him around sometimes. We say, ‘hey.’ That’s it. He lifts at the gym. I think he used to play football, but there was an injury maybe? He draws. I’ve seen him drawing. I know he’s single.” Nat stared at him. “Sorry, that’s all I’ve got.”

“You are the worst kind of spy.” Tony grabbed her drink and took a long pull of it. It tasted like sugar and alcohol had had a disturbingly pink lovechild. “What the fuck is that?”

“I’m not a spy. And that’s mine. Get your own intel. And drink.” She pulled her glass back.

Rhodey chose that moment to appear in the kitchen wearing the most hideous reindeer Christmas sweater Tony had ever seen in his life. Okay, he didn’t need intel, he needed advice. And Nat was dating a guy who thought grunts constituted as witty repartee. What the fuck was he thinking, going to her? He barreled across the room, catching a glimpse of his future husband talking to Clint in the hallway. He hooked Rhodey by the arm and dragged him away into the bathroom.

“What the fuck, Tony?”

“Rhodey, Rhodey, my darling, light of my life, my grumpy little octopus, I’m having a crisis.”

“Did you invite two different girls to the same party by accident?”

Tony’s jaw dropped. “How dare. That’s what you assume, really?”

“Tony. It really happened. Two months ago. There was that Halloween thing and -”

“Yes, yes okay. Things may or may not have happened. But no. All of that is behind me now. I’m settling down.”

“What.”

“I’ve found The One.”

“You’ve found ‘the one’ in the ten minutes since I last saw you?”

“Yes. He’s perfect. I’m in love.”

Rhodey’s eyes narrowed. “Who is he?”

“Steve.”

Rhodey’s incredulous expression twisted further. “Wait… you mean Barnes’ friend? How do you know him?”

Tony gestured vaguely towards the living room where he’d first met Steve. He’d have to get that room framed, or preserved or something. “I just met him. He offered to help me with the beer, Rhodey. Who does that?”

“Well, pretty much anyone wit-”

“Perfect people. That’s who. Angels.” Tony gave Rhodey a shake. “We could put him on top of the tree for Christ’s sake.”

“Tony. I really thought I had at least three or four more good years in you before I had to say this, but you’ve completely lost your mind.”

Tony leaned against the counter. He felt dizzy. “I know.” He dropped his face in his hands. “I really have. But he was there and he’s so - ugh. I don’t know what to do.”

“You could try - and this is wild, I know - but you could try talking to him.”

Tony frowned. “People don’t like talking to me. They like doing… other things to me.”

“Gross.” Rhodey’s hand landed on Tony’s shoulder. “And maybe you think people don’t like talking to you because you never give them the chance to.” Rhodey sighed. “Jump him or don’t, but I didn’t agree to help host this party because I wanted to spend all of it locked in a bathroom with you.”

“You didn’t? I’m hurt. Most people would kill for the chance.”

Rhodey shot him a look.

“Okay, okay, fine, you’re right. Go back to the party, sugarplum. I’ll be a minute, I’m just… formulating a plan.”

“Alright.” Rhodey pushed past him. “I’ll make sure the fire extinguisher is in easy reach.”

“That was one time,” Tony mumbled, staring at himself in the mirror. The door clicked shut again.

And the problem was, he wasn’t kidding. Tony got lots of dates, easily, but they were never anything designed to last. He was good at one night stands, they were easy. And the only time he’d blown a lead in the last year had been with Pepper and that was because she’d made the bizarre decision to be his friend instead of his hookup. He still wasn’t entirely sure how he’d landed that one, and every time he asked her, she just laughed. If only Pep were here, instead of back in LA with her folks. She’d set him right. Or set him up. Or something. She’d save his ass.

He thought about calling her, but he couldn’t stay locked in the bathroom any longer without it being weird. So he needed to make a plan on his own. He shot himself a wink in the mirror to buck himself up, then headed back out into the party. Everyone was gathered in the kitchen now, and Tony slipped through the living room to press in beside Clint. Steve was across the room chatting with Bucky and Nat.

And, fuck, was he ever gorgeous. Steve smiled, and Tony gripped the edge of the countertop for support.

Thor, Jane, and Darcy chose that moment to arrive and as they stepped through the doorway from the hall, Clint and Rhodey shared an “Ooooooo.” Everyone turned to see what was going on, and Clint pointed to the frame above their heads. “Mistletoe,” he pointed out, with a grin.

Jane coloured prettily, then tipped up on her toes and pressed a kiss to Thor’s cheek. Everyone joined in the laughter, except for Tony.

Tony was plotting.

Aggressive flirting was the only way Tony knew how to pick people up - directing guys and ladies alike into his bed like one of those airplane marshallers with glowing, red sticks - but that was just for sex. And he wasn’t kidding when he said Steve was having an effect on him. Sure, they’d barely talked, but there was something _there._ He could feel it crackling under his skin every time Steve shot a look his way. And Tony didn’t want to waste that on a one night stand.

But that still meant that he was hopelessly out of his depth for charming people past breakfast. So, play to your strengths, right? If he could get Steve under the mistletoe, and give him a really sock-dropping kiss, maybe that would get his attention long enough for Tony to flash his credit cards, or build him a robot, or whatever people did to show they really liked someone.

And then, maybe, he could ask him out. For New Years? That would be nice.

Tony took a deep breath to steady himself. Okay, plan planned. Now, how to enact it. They had a whole Christmas dinner party set up, surely he’d have a chance to get Steve through one doorway?

Fate, it would seem, was not on Tony’s side.

His first play was to stand under the doorway himself, in the hopes that someone would call him on it and Steve would be the closest person there. He worked on his beer, chatting to whoever got close enough to be in range. It seemed like a good plan at first. Steve drifted around the room, getting to know everyone, and, eventually, he’d make his way over to Tony and then somehow, somehow, Tony would -

“Hey!” Darcy called from the other side of the room. “Tony’s under the mistletoe. Look out.” She started to plow through the crowd, but Clint hooted with laughter and darted over the back of the couch, sneaking in just before Darcy and colliding with Tony.

“Ahh - FUCK!” Tony hit the ground, Clint wrapped around him. Clint pressed his face against Tony’s making exaggerated kissy noises and wriggling his body around overdramatically. Tony batted him away, trying to protect his face with his hands. “God, get off me! You taste like humanities major.”

Clint laughed and rolled off onto the floor, leaving Tony gasping like a freshly-caught fish beside him.

“You dick.”

“Love you too, Stark.” Clint rolled up onto his knees and stuck his tongue out at Darcy as he grabbed Tony’s hand and helped him up to his feet. He smacked another kiss against his cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

“Bah fucking humbug.” Tony smacked Clint on the shoulder. His eyes couldn’t help but dart around til they found Steve, expecting him to look embarrassed on Tony’s behalf, or maybe put off by Clint’s goofiness, but instead he had a soft, cute smile on his face, one eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. And he was looking at Tony. Or at least, he was until Tony looked at him, then his eyes darted away.

“Get your gay asses off the floor,” Rhodey called from another room. “We’re decorating the tree.”

“Oooh!” Darcy clapped her hands together then grabbed one of each of Clint and Tony’s, dragging them into the living room with her.

Rhodey and Thor had pulled out the well-worn cardboard boxes of ornaments, while Nat made sure everyone’s drinks were topped up. Tony perched on the arm of the couch, watching the gang argue about which ornament went where and the best way to wind the lights. Someone settled next to him, and he looked over to see - oh fuck - Steve.

“Hi.” Steve waved two fingers at him.

“Um,” Tony replied, eloquent as always.

Steve’s brow creased a little, which was fair, he was probably expecting an actual word in response. “You don’t have an opinion about light orientation?” Steve tried.

Tony snorted into his drink. “I have many, very strong, opinions, but experience has shown me that these dickwads will willfully ignore whatever I suggest and make a hash of it anyway, while I scream til I’m blue in the face.”

Steve’s eyebrows went up. “So you’re staying out of it entirely?”

“Oh, fuck no. I let them think they’re getting their way, and then I stay up until 4am fixing it.” He sipped his drink.

Steve snorted, then broke out into laughing. He laughed like fucking cherubs singing Christmas carols - it was indecent. “Fair enough, I guess.” He hummed a little. “So, I’m guessing you’re not studying humanities, based on your assessment of Clint’s kisses.”

“No way. I mean, sorry, no offense, if you are, but I’m in engineering. Clint and I have a thing -” He waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t really have anything against humanities.”

“Ah. Well, I’m an art student. Not sure what you think of the taste of that.” Were his eyes fucking _twinkling?_ Tony took another sip of his drink and tried to remember how to breathe. Something about - diaphragms… and… lungs. Fuck. His angel was still talking. “But I don’t go to MIT, like the rest of you. I’m at BU. Bucky and I share an apartment, though, so I know Nat a little. No one else though. Sorry, it’s Tony, right?”

 _It’s fucking gone and done, punch my card, I’m out of here, is what it is,_ Tony thought. _What even is my name?_ He stared at Steve for approximately ten seconds too long, then spluttered out, “Yeah, Tony. Sorry. Should have said earlier. When I was…”

“Hoping I was your Christmas present?” Steve twinkled again. “No one told me a bow was the appropriate dress code for this.”

Tony made an extremely unmanly noise into his glass. “I’ve just been really, really good this year,” he managed to squeak out.

Steve flicked another look his way. “Why do I doubt that?”

Tony was all of three seconds away from collapsing in Steve’s lap and rubbing his face against his - most likely perfect - abs like a deranged cat, when Jane sat down on the other side of Steve.

“Phew, those lights involve a lot of arm holding.” She raised her arms to demonstrate. “Steve, right? I’m Jane.” They shook hands.

They devolved into small talk again while Tony politely, but firmly, informed Jane through telepathy that unless she was going to wander over and hold the mistletoe over Steve’s head for him, she could promptly fuck off, but she either didn’t get the message, or chose to ignore it.

That thought led him back to the mistletoe again, and he realized that he’d let the tree distract him from his mission.

Waiting around in the doorway hadn’t worked - in fact it had the opposite effect (and no amount of Rhodey’s mulled wine would ever erase the taste of Clint from his mouth). So, new plan. He needed to lure Steve underneath, somehow. Preferably when they were alone.

An opportunity presented itself, only a short while later. The tree was up - with the lights horribly wrong but tolerable, for now - and someone flicked on the TV to find the end of Love Actually playing.

There was a collective, “Awww,” and the gang gathered around to watch. It was the perfect time to strike. Everyone was crowded up around the back of the couch, eyes on the TV, watching the kid race through the airport to proclaim his crush. Tony slipped out of the group and into the kitchen. All he needed was an excuse to call Steve in…

There were bags of chips and tubs of dip laid out on the corner of the kitchen counter, and Tony rummaged through the cupboard until he found a big, plastic bowl. Perfect. He leaned around the mistletoed door jamb. Steve was only a few feet away, standing behind the couch, one hand braced on the corner.

“Hey, Steve? Give me a hand?” Tony asked lightly. Steve turned towards him and nodded, taking the few steps to reach the doorway into the kitchen. Tony held up a hand. “Oh, one sec.” Steve paused, waiting for instructions, and it was _perfect;_ he hovered right under the mistletoe. Tony snatched at the bowls of chips. Okay, all he had to do was reach out to hand one to Steve, and then look up and say -

“Oh, hey, now Stevie’s the one under the mistletoe.” Bucky’s voice wafted in from the living room. Tony spun around, chips forgotten, as Steve turned back to face the living room.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Darcy aimed a threatening finger at Clint, and he held his hands up in defeat. She grinned cheekily and sidled over to Steve who shook his head, but smiled back, resigned to his fate with good humour. She took his face in both hands and pressed a chaste, smacking kiss to his lips. When she pulled back with a “Muah!” he laughed.

Tony turned away, back to the counter, and scowled at the bowl of hummus. That was _his_ kiss and _his_ cherub-carol laugh. He poked at a baby carrot that had slid off the plate.

Warmth appeared behind him. “Still need help?” a soft voice asked. The words dripped down the back of Tony’s neck and pooled in his stomach like hot buttered rum. He turned and everything was right again. Steve. Tony pressed the hummus into Steve’s hands and gazed up into his perfect blue eyes, holding back a sigh. They were going to have four kids and live in a house in the country full of gears and servos and resistors, and Steve wouldn’t be allowed to wear pants on Sundays when the kids were at their grandparents’ house. It was perfect. He did sigh.

Steve smiled again and took the hummus, carrying it into the living room. Tony shook his head, the spell broken. Well, attempt number two had also failed spectacularly. This was turning out to be a particularly challenging mission.

The gang piled on the couch to watch the end of the movie, picking at chips and dips and vegetables while the last few dishes finished cooking. When Rhodey pronounced the meal ready, they stood as one and bustled into the living room, filling the space with chatter as they set the table and shuffled around drinks and silverware.

Tony angled for a seat next to Steve, but Nat and Bucky slid in on either side of him while Tony was getting Jane and Thor fresh drinks, but after some grumbling, he managed to grab the seat across from Steve instead. The food was a wild mish-mosh of things. They’d gone for a haphazard, potluck approach, and it showed in the best possible way. Tony piled his plate high, fighting over the mashed potatoes with Darcy and even trying the hot pink soup with dumplings and sour cream that Nat had brought.

They’d turned off the overheads, so the only thing lighting the table was the soft, multi-coloured glow from the tree and a few candles dotted amongst the dishes. It was warm, and close, like the rest of the world didn’t exist, and every laugh and smile echoed around the small bubble they’d built.

“Oh no! We forgot the crackers!” Jane exclaimed, pushing out of her seat. She came back with a box of festive-coloured Christmas crackers and started handing them out. They’d had to crowd everyone into a too-small table, and the seats were pushed too close together to pop the crackers with their neighbours, so they opted to pop recklessly across the table instead.

Steve’s eyes met Tony’s, and he shuffled a candle out of the way, holding his cracker out by one end, waving it towards Tony enticingly. Tony grabbed the other end with a grin, then held out his own for Steve to take hold of. Their gazes held in the flickering light, waiting for the others to get sorted.

“One… two… three!” They tugged. The space was filled with screeches and laughter as the tiny explosions crackled around the table and they all tried to stop their toys and crowns from landing in the food.

Tony ended up with both crowns and Steve half-stood and leaned over so Tony could place his on his head. Tony let his fingers drift through Steve’s hair as he smoothed it out. It was like spun silk, soft and oh so enticing. He wanted to climb into Steve’s lap and furrow both hands through it endlessly. But Steve was already sitting back, lips curling up in a half smile, holding his hands out. “How do I look?” he asked.

Tony leaned his chin on one hand. “Perfect,” he breathed.

Steve beamed. “What’s your joke?”

It took a moment for Tony to remember their were other things in the world besides Steve’s face, but when he did, he unfolded his crown and pulled out the slip of paper. “What’s brown and sticky?” he read out to the table, awkwardly shoving his crown on his head with one hand.

Everyone stared.

“A stick.”

The table exploded with laughter, but Tony only had ears for Steve’s.

The electric crackle of being in Steve’s vicinity faded as the meal went on, softening into a warm, full-body glow. Tony could feel how close Steve’s knee was to his under the table but instead of making him tense, he relaxed into it, bathing in the heat he imagined was rolling across the table towards him. They went around the table working through their jokes and riddles and sharing their toys.

“Trade with me?” Darcy asked, and Tony realized he hadn’t even looked at what had been in his. It was a little silver hand mirror, and Darcy had a tiny, perfect chess set.

“Absolutely!” They swapped.

The rest of dinner was delicious, and Steve kept shooting Tony little glances over his plate. Tiny, flirty half-smiles that made his stomach flip flop and his head spin. Tony ended up falling into conversation with Steve and Darcy, describing the latest antics of his fluid mechanics graduate class and unless he was as good an actor as he was everything else, Steve was actually _interested._

After they ate, instead of cleaning up right away they all collapsed in a pile on the carpet to play charades - a particularly lazy version of the game, since no one was feeling up to bouncing around, weighed down as they were by their epic meal.

This time, Tony did get a seat next to Steve, thrilling as Steve settled on the carpet next to him and leaned back against the legs of the chair behind them. Steve reached out to straighten Tony’s crown, and Tony could hear the steady beep of his heart flatlining in his ears.  

“I hope you know CPR,” he gasped out.

Steve laughed. “Eat too much?”

“Sure. That’s why.” Tony’s eyes fixed on the curve of Steve’s ear as he turned back towards the game. It was a perfect ear - Tony had never seen anything like it.

Steve proclaimed himself the scorekeeper and took the pad of paper and pen offered to him. Tony tried to pay attention to the game - he was usually pretty good at charades - but he could swear Steve was shuffling closer to him every few minutes, and the _skritch scratch_ of his pen on the paper was incredibly distracting.

Tony forced himself to keep his eyes fixed on Clint as he tried to act out something that involved a lot of arm flailing. He couldn’t stare at Steve too much - he couldn’t give away his feelings until Steve had his magic Christmas kiss and would be open to them. Everything hinged on the kiss softening him up, and Tony was feeling increasingly panicky that he wouldn’t get a chance to make it happen.

An elbow bumped his and he looked down to see that Steve had folded a piece of the paper from the pad into a small square and was pushing it over towards Tony. His eyes were on Clint, but his lips twitched up, looking distinctly like a kid sneakily passing notes in class.

Tony opened the note and it was a tiny drawing - Cartoon Clint pouting while lines of rage radiated off his head and the rest of the group staring up at him, question marks above their heads. The tiny Cartoon Steve and Cartoon Tony were sitting close beside each other, shoulders touching. Cartoon Tony’s paper crown was crooked.

Tony looked back at Steve and he winked, then dropped his eyes back to the scorecard. The drawing instantly and permanently became Tony’s most prized possession. He needed to frame it. Or build a special climate-controlled room for it so it would never yellow or age. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from it, sticking on the two tiny shoulders that touched in the crowd of confused dinner guests.

It was all over too soon.

The game ended in a tie, and Nat yawned and stretched, declaring the night a rousing success - and over. Thor and Jane wished everyone a good night first and disappeared into the snow, Darcy in tow. Rhodey and Clint ended up in front of the TV as Home Alone started playing, hooting and howling at their favourite parts. Clint would probably end up crashing on their couch tonight. Maybe for the whole week.

The party was over.

And Tony had missed his chance.

He leaned back against the bathroom door with a sigh. Some things just weren’t meant to be, apparently. He could hear Bucky and Nat stacking up containers on the table, figuring out what to leave and what to take. Steve would go with them, and that was it. He fiddled with the edges of the drawing in his pocket.

“Hey.”

Tony looked up, and Steve was standing _in the fucking doorway,_ smiling at hm. Alone.

Holy shit.

Tony straightened up and stumbled over, raising his hand to point up, a flirty smirk already forming, but when his eyes hit the top of the door jamb, his smirk fell off and hit the floor. The mistletoe was gone. He’d finally gotten Steve alone, and in the doorway, and the mistletoe was gone. Fuck.

He dropped his gaze back to Steve’s, trying not to whine, and Steve smiled warmly at him. “Thanks for a great party.” His voice was soft, low, intimate, and Tony’s heart screeched to a halt, then picked up in double time.

“Thanks for coming,” he managed to squeak out.

Steve opened his mouth like he was going to say something else, but Nat and Bucky chose that moment to reappear, bantering playfully with each other, arms full of tupperware. Steve shot Tony another smile, then grabbed a stack of containers out of Bucky’s arms and followed them to the door.

There was an awkward dance while they all shuffled around containers so they could each pull on their boots and coats. Tony let himself be piled high while they readied themselves. Steve took the tupperware back, once he was dressed for the cold, his fingers brushing Tony’s, making Tony’s breath hitch.

They said their goodbyes, Nat pressing a kiss to Tony’s cheek, but he could barely follow what they were saying. He’d missed his chance; they were leaving. Sure, he’d probably see Steve again, but a guy like that didn’t stay single for long. He had the gut-wrenching feeling that if Steve left without his kiss, the magic of the night would be broken.

He almost gave in, stumbled forward and grabbed Steve, but he held himself back. Even he could recognize that was crazy. He stood in the doorway, a lump in his throat, as the three hustled off into the snowy night. He watched them open the trunk of Bucky’s car and stack the food and presents inside precariously. A glimmer in the snow on the porch caught Tony’s eye and he bent to pick up a slightly crushed bow that must have fallen off a present. He tossed it on the side table and was just about to close the door when he saw Steve hold up a hand to Bucky and Nat in apology and turn to jog back up the driveway. He must have forgotten something.

Steve powered through the door, bringing a waft of snow-crisp air with him. His cheeks were pink and he was grinning.

“What did you forg-?” Tony asked, cutting off when Steve crowded him up against the hallway wall, behind the door and hidden from view of their friends.

“This,” he said, with a smirk that shot straight down to Tony’s toes. He leaned over Tony, one hand landing on the plaster over Tony’s head, locking Tony in the cage of his arms. Tony swallowed hard. Steve’s eyes flicked up, and Tony followed their path, tipping his chin up until he was looking straight above him.

Steve’s hand was pressed flat against the wall, over Tony’s head, and trapped under his fingers was the sprig of mistletoe that had disappeared from the doorway.

“I was looking for a chance to kiss you all night, but I wanted some privacy. You know what those vultures are like.” Steve tilted his head towards the door with a smile.

“Wow,” was all Tony could manage to say.

Steve leaned forward, and the cold air from his jacket pressed into the seams of Tony’s sweater. Tony’s hands came up of their own accord to slip around Steve’s waist. The kiss was soft and hesitant. Tony found all his plans to knock Steve’s socks off fluttered away in the face of Steve’s actual lips actually on his. All he could do was hold on and try desperately not to whimper, sob, or climb Steve like a tree. Or propose.

They slotted together easily, simply, like they were made to fit, and despite the cold air, Tony felt a warm rush from the inside out, bursting through him then dancing over his skin. Steve’s empty hand slid forward to rest on Tony’s hip, so lightly he almost couldn’t feel it. And thank Santa there was a wall behind him because his knees were definitely no longer able to support his weight. Steve pulled back, letting his nose brush against Tony’s, and Tony tipped, unsteady, after him, before catching himself. He couldn’t help darting his tongue out to taste the lips Steve had just kissed.

Steve glowed at him, and Tony expected him to sprout wings and a halo any moment. “Would you like to go out some time?” Steve asked. His voice was quiet, hushed, just for Tony.

“Yes.”

“Be my date for New Years?” Steve asked.

 _“Yes,”_ tumbled out before Steve had even finished asking.

“Perfect.” Steve was smiling at him again, leaning over him in a breathtaking way that made Tony’s stomach swoop around inside him like a balloon being untied in a cartoon. “I’ll get your number from Nat.”

Tony thought his face might break from grinning too hard. Steve leaned in and kissed him again, just a peck, then whispered, “Merry Christmas,” in his ear. He stepped back and was about to turn to the door when he paused, eyes flickering to the side. He reached out and picked up the rumpled bow Tony had rescued. He smooshed it on his head until it stuck, then turned back to shoot Tony a wink. Tony could only gape after him as Steve hurried out into the snow where his friends were gesturing impatiently at him. Tony could hear their voices urging Steve to hurry up, stamping their cold feet in the snow. Before Steve slid into the back seat, he turned and shot Tony another heart-stopping smile.

Tony watched the car pull away, dizzy and euphoric. His fingers found the tiny drawing, tucked carefully in his pocket, still tingling from where they’d been touching Steve. That had been the best kiss of his entire life and he was filled with real, singing, swooping, magical hope that there would be more, even better, in his future.

Merry fucking Christmas indeed.


End file.
